She seems to have lost most of her physical desire. She lies there hoping his feeble attempts at initiating sex do not rear their ugly heads at night. She doesn't want to hurt him. It is a nightly affair and one that may turn up while the sun still shines. The dormant flower may open up fleetingly and wither in the space of minutes, to rest indefinitely again
until something brings it back to life.
He has tried to become as un-intrusive in his petitioning, in his soliciting, as possible. He fails repeatedly to initiate in a way that won't rub her the wrong way, but most attempts over time have yielded little other than invariably angering her and frustrating him. He feels emasculated in having to quell his assertiveness despite knowing he cannot possibly deal with making her feel bad.
When the fire is lit, she usually is the one initiating. Yet, she has come to despise the very act that brought them together in the first place. What was once an active volcano now spurts, slowing, cooling, with the occasional plume and eruption. Perhaps the ebb and eddy of any prolonged relationship. The downs of any mature love affair.
He wrestles with the knowledge that she finds it a chore, when he wishes she would long for his touch and feel like she used to, without having to fall into the invariable depth of feeling undesired.
They know they love each other. The peak expression of physical love has become a thorn in their side. When hearts are laid bare, raw, it is impossible not to feel hurt.
She hates him for making her feel bad. He wonders how he might make things better. Solve or skirt this issue. All he really wants is the be held and hold her in turn. Perhaps she would like that, too?
He will simply forget. Forget his desire to express himself in the physical way and find another outlet, a new way, a new vehicle, a new art. For her, he thinks it better to suppress this side of himself. He hopes it won't be an issue any longer. He hopes.
Perhaps abstinence will refocus their love. It has not waned, it has not withered, but maybe it would be beneficial. He thinks it is not a bad idea.
He just wants the peace he finds in her arms. If desiring more would lead to losing her, he'd rather not yearn.
Both sides feeling dejected, the matter agley. He hopes he can still bring a smile to her face and hold her close, soon.
Differing libidos, expectations, overthinking and fear.
Friday, April 06, 2012
Awkward Crossroads
He sat in the toilet stall, the third from the deep wall. Always the third stall, wherever he went.
He sat there, when he should have been at his cubicle, pounding away at the keys, pretending to care about the frivolous issues of first-world strangers, crying foul about abstract afflictions that should have no room in a practical man's world. But they did.
He sat and used his excretory excuse as a scapegoat for dodging responsibility.
He thought over and over about running from it all. Quitting the job, leaving his children - products of a failed marriage – and making for the strangest place he could think of.
The stupid timed lights in the bathroom turned off. If nobody moves outside the stalls for three minutes, the lights go off. It made wiping properly a veritable feat. He was not worried, though, as he didn't intend to move from the stall for a few minutes yet. The darkness was reassuring, comforting.
For some reason, though, the darkness was different that night. If felt pregnant with presence. A tingle of fear - a sliver, really - ran up his spine and up to his nape.
He thought himself silly. What could possibly be there? Nothing, of course, but then, he was sure there was something odd. Not logically, though. No.
"Hello", a voice soft as silk yet deep like ocean depths.
He sat there, startled into motionless apprehension.
"No need to fear me at this junction, Nick", the voice went on.
Nick had not heard anyone come in after he walked into the bathroom. He also did not hear any flushing from the neighboring stalls or any of the sounds that accompany the labor that habitually transpires therein.
"I believe you will intuitively glean my identity soon enough", it continued in mellifluous, grandfatherly manner. "But that, as well, is of little import here."
The voice was coming from the other side of his stall's door. Nick thought it might be someone playing a prank oh him, though he really couldn't place its owner. He decided to open the door quickly and found that he could not. The door appeared glued to its frame.
"No need for that, Nick."
"Strike any silly notions from your mind. They will not benefit either one of us, I assure you."
Nick sat there. Puzzled and trying to come to grips with the surreal situation.
After a moment, the voice spoke again.
"My purpose here is to make you an offer. Listening to the proposal will cost you nothing. You may very well decline at no cost, as well. However, understand that, should you agree to a contract, the seriousness and finality thereof will be iron-bound and unalterable in any form."
After a moment, the voice went on.
"I see that you are now ready to listen"
******************************
"Brothers and Sisters, we are gathered here today to mourn the loss of our beloved brother Nick De Bar." A catholic priest spoke to a large crowd of mourners gathered around a large, opulently decorated wooden casket and the rectangular, 6-feet-deep hole where it would soon be deposited.
“He spent his life fulfilling his many dreams and helping others in fulfilling theirs.” The priest continued. “Although he left us under unclear circumstances, his true whereabouts unknown, it is in keeping with the grand design that he is no longer among the living. May his soul find its way to your merciful embrace, oh Lord.”
As the empty casket was lowered into the ground, its intended occupant missing, his whereabouts unknown, a light drizzle of rain began to fall. The mourners began to quickly make their way to the shelter of their automobiles, having paid their respects by their mere presence.
A fitting end to the somewhat informal funeral service the missing-and-presumed-departed had wished to have.
Nick’s epitaph on his tombstone read, as he had instructed in his will:
I would choose the same path gladly if given the choice anew.
He sat there, when he should have been at his cubicle, pounding away at the keys, pretending to care about the frivolous issues of first-world strangers, crying foul about abstract afflictions that should have no room in a practical man's world. But they did.
He sat and used his excretory excuse as a scapegoat for dodging responsibility.
He thought over and over about running from it all. Quitting the job, leaving his children - products of a failed marriage – and making for the strangest place he could think of.
The stupid timed lights in the bathroom turned off. If nobody moves outside the stalls for three minutes, the lights go off. It made wiping properly a veritable feat. He was not worried, though, as he didn't intend to move from the stall for a few minutes yet. The darkness was reassuring, comforting.
For some reason, though, the darkness was different that night. If felt pregnant with presence. A tingle of fear - a sliver, really - ran up his spine and up to his nape.
He thought himself silly. What could possibly be there? Nothing, of course, but then, he was sure there was something odd. Not logically, though. No.
"Hello", a voice soft as silk yet deep like ocean depths.
He sat there, startled into motionless apprehension.
"No need to fear me at this junction, Nick", the voice went on.
Nick had not heard anyone come in after he walked into the bathroom. He also did not hear any flushing from the neighboring stalls or any of the sounds that accompany the labor that habitually transpires therein.
"I believe you will intuitively glean my identity soon enough", it continued in mellifluous, grandfatherly manner. "But that, as well, is of little import here."
The voice was coming from the other side of his stall's door. Nick thought it might be someone playing a prank oh him, though he really couldn't place its owner. He decided to open the door quickly and found that he could not. The door appeared glued to its frame.
"No need for that, Nick."
"Strike any silly notions from your mind. They will not benefit either one of us, I assure you."
Nick sat there. Puzzled and trying to come to grips with the surreal situation.
After a moment, the voice spoke again.
"My purpose here is to make you an offer. Listening to the proposal will cost you nothing. You may very well decline at no cost, as well. However, understand that, should you agree to a contract, the seriousness and finality thereof will be iron-bound and unalterable in any form."
After a moment, the voice went on.
"I see that you are now ready to listen"
******************************
"Brothers and Sisters, we are gathered here today to mourn the loss of our beloved brother Nick De Bar." A catholic priest spoke to a large crowd of mourners gathered around a large, opulently decorated wooden casket and the rectangular, 6-feet-deep hole where it would soon be deposited.
“He spent his life fulfilling his many dreams and helping others in fulfilling theirs.” The priest continued. “Although he left us under unclear circumstances, his true whereabouts unknown, it is in keeping with the grand design that he is no longer among the living. May his soul find its way to your merciful embrace, oh Lord.”
As the empty casket was lowered into the ground, its intended occupant missing, his whereabouts unknown, a light drizzle of rain began to fall. The mourners began to quickly make their way to the shelter of their automobiles, having paid their respects by their mere presence.
A fitting end to the somewhat informal funeral service the missing-and-presumed-departed had wished to have.
Nick’s epitaph on his tombstone read, as he had instructed in his will:
I would choose the same path gladly if given the choice anew.
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